When I’ve become a corpse in the ground
skin all filled
with holes and rotting,
centipedes will
scuttle in and out
of the lump
of flesh once called my body
My lungs
will stutter and my heart
will seize,
my limbs will all go still
my flesh
will grow icy and hard
my face hollow
and pale
You should
touch me while I’m still full
of life,
grasp my shoulders while I’m still warm
bite my neck
while it still has a pulse
explore cavities
uninfested with worms
distract me
from mortal pains and fears
we could have
minutes, we could have years
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